As the Swift Flies
by WoodstockKoala
Summary: In this story Gale Hawthorne has a twin sister, who gets reaped as a tribute in the 73rd Annual Hunger Games. Follow the struggle of Tristine River Hawthorne through the nightmare, that is the Games, her development of character, and her adjustment to the lore and rot of the Capitol. Meet old and new characters. Rated for violence, swearing, bad habits and maybe smut later on.
1. Chapter 1

The dawn has not broken yet, the bed is still warm, Copy's breathing is steady and deep and even, his back to mine. All these things would normally lull me to sleep, but not today. I know, it's stupid not to go back to sleep, if I get reaped, I'd need it, if I don't get reaped, why worry. Still I can't sleep anymore. What if it's Copy, they reap this year? That would be the end of me. And I can't even volunteer for him.

I try to sit up quietly, pushing these thoughts away. Try as I might not to wake him, he sits up as well, looking at me with sleepy eyes.

"What's wrong T?" though he knows perfectly well what it is.

"Nothing" maybe, just maybe, if I say it out loud, the lie becomes reality, and we will all be safe. Sleepiness leaves his eyes, and his look becomes sharp and earnest.

"We will be ok, as we always have. Hear me, T? Two more years, and we are out of it. They can't hurt us then anymore." I want to believe so much. But sadly, can't.

"Copy..."

"Don't worry, T, it'll be fine. I swear... "

The pitter-patter of small feet is now heard from the small, narrow hallway. Posy is awake, and here for some snuggling. My twin smiles at the thought of our little sister's need of constant display of affection. Our conversation is over for now.

"Come in, Minion, we have been expecting you!" says Gale, opening the door, revealing a sleepy, and teary eyed Posy behind it.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" heartfelt concern dripping from his voice. I simply lift the tattered blanket for her to climb in next to me.

"What did he do this time?" knowing that her distress most likely comes from something Rory said or done.

"He said that they might reap one of you. I don't want either of you to be reaped." her little voice breaks at the end of the sentence, and I feel my anger rising. There is no need to scare her with things like this. I'll have a nice little chat with my little brother, it seems. But soothing Posy comes first.

"For years we were lucky, why would not be now?" I brace myself for the next sentence. " And even if it's one of us this year..." I try to keep my voice even. "Well, then there will be a victor in the family." try as I might, it does not sound sincere, even to my ears. But it seems to calm the little one down, so I guess its good enough for now. Copy gives me the famous "Gale-Hawthorne-is-judging-you-so-hard-right-now" look, I stand his gaze, as always. The silent message being the promise I have just made to Posy, who is already sound asleep between us.

"I guess, that's about true. Anyway, I am expected in the woods, in an hour, so be good, don't kill Rory, see you at the Hob soon, T!" he gets up, but not before throwing a pillow at me for the knowing smile I always give him before he would meet Katniss.

As he leaves, and I'm left with a sleeping Posy, and my disturbing thoughts of the Games, Gale, Rory, Vick and Posy. But in the end, I go back to sleep, as I should, even if for only a little while.

I get up half an hour later to cut my now dry (and illegally grew) tobacco to little bits so I can make lung-killer homemade cigarettes to trade at the Hob, and smoke some myself. The whole process takes about half an hour, and helps me relax, both to make them and to smoke them as well.

I wake my little brother, Rory, to have the chat with him, for scaring Posy like that on our way. He looks just about as scared as Posy did in the morning, but he has the famous 'Hawthorne-defiance' in his eyes. The trait, that he shares with Copy, and our late father. The anger and hatred, that never goes away, never really shows much, but instead burns them up slowly from the inside. I tell him to get ready fast. After that we bid Ma goodbye, and leave for the Hob.

On our way I try to make a conversation, but it's never easy with him. Unlike Copy, Rory is not a very careful person, and would rather die, than to admit weakness, and fear. After about ten minutes of coaxing him, I give up and approach the matter in a more straightforward way.

"Look, Rory, I know you are not a prick, not really, so feel free to stop acting like one and scare Posy like that."

He finally stops and stares at the ground, kicking little rocks with the tip of his worn-out, hand-me-down shoes. His voice is different from before, lost the edge, and the hatred, all that is left now is desperation.

"Ma had a bad dream. It was you two this year. Both of you." my heart drops, as he continues. "None of you..."

I don't let him say any more. I give him one of my rare truly ment hugs and stroke his now shaking back.

"It's not us, not this year, not ever. But even if it is, it won't be both of us. And the other will make it back home, okay?" now we are both crying. His next sentence is like a blow in my guts.

"Don't leave me, Tris, not like Papa did!"

I let go of him a little, put my hands on his shoulders and shake his gently.

"Never. Listen to me, Rory Hawthorne, it would take way more than the Games for you to ever get rid of me or Gale. But it's not gonna happen anyway. So quit moping and being a pain in the ass, and scaring Posy like you did!" I give him another soft shake. "You heard me, right?" he nods, and I finally let go of him, light a cigarette as we start walking again.

At the Hob we find Katniss and Gale already trading wild turkeys and squirrels with Sae at her stand.

"Hi Tris, Rory, what's up?" Katniss tries to make it sound like it's a normal day, but fails visibly. We still pretend not to notice. At least I do, and even Rory manages not to throw a fit, on her pretended causality, and goes as far as a mumbled 'Mornin, Katniss'.

"We're as good as one can be today. You alright?" somewhere between accepting her ignorance for the situation, and rubbing the harsh reality under her nose is where I stand on this matter.

"Yes. I worry about next year, though. Prim's first."

"And mine." adds Rory in a hollow voice. I avoid Gale's eyes. He is in fear of that as well. However there's no fear in his voice as he speaks again, with pretended joy.

"This year, however, is ours, again... May the Odds be ever in our favor!"

As he says the words, I catch a glimpse at Haymitch Abernathy, buying his huge dose of liquor eyeing us, or just staring out of his head, accidentally towards us, seemingly too drunk and ignorant to function, still shudders at Copy's words. He notices me looking, and I turn my head quickly.

Somehow I remember to look for my regular costumers, the miners, and constructors, who buy my lung-killers. I sell a dozen to Greasy Sae herself, half a dozen to Rooba, and a few others also buy from me (like Darius, the Peacekeeper, or Graham Mellark, the baker). As I trade, I almost forget about the reaping, Haymitch Abernathy's disapproving gaze, and my anxiety. By the time, Graham Mellark comes up to me, I am almost in a good mood.

"Hello Tristine River Hawthorne, how is life? Seems like the odds have been in your favor for the last few years, I wish you the same this time too" and he winks at me. I catch Copy's furious eyes, and can't help but think of how many times are our names in by now. There goes my good mood...

"Way to get a girl's attention, dimwit. If I hadn't known better, I'd think you are flirting with me, using the age old technique of wooing via insults and threats." that's about as witty as I get today. I know, he expected a comeback, as I am known for my sharp tongue, shitty cigarettes, short hair and sparky temper.

"It was well meant, but, as always I am flattered by your attention. And..."

"Don't waste my time, townie, twenty smokes, right?" running out of patience, I put an end to our banter.

"Right, and a kiss for luck, maybe?" his eyes shine with mirth, and sadness the same time, almost impossible to say no to them.

"Dream on, baker boy!" almost goes for no, I guess. We do the trading quickly after that. "See you at the reaping."

I search for Rory with my eyes, to find him before the old lady's stand, who sells ribbons, and cloth. I sneak up on him, and whisper in his ears.

"Prim likes soft pink the most" he jumps a little at my voice, and blushes deep red.

"Maybe next year... For our first reaping."

After I sell all my cigarettes and freshly cut tobacco, I take my little brother by the back of his neck and guide him towards the exit. We still catch Katniss and Copy saying their goodbyes, and wishing each other luck.

"See you soon, Catnip, don't get too nervous! Rory, pretend to have minimal manners, and say goodbye to Katniss, will you? You coming, Gale, or should I give your message to Ma?"

Rory, clearly not in a very civil mood, mutters a 'Bye Katniss, say hi to Prim for me', and starts walking away. I say bye to Katniss again and follow him. Before even seeing or hearing him, I turn around to see Copy jogging to catch up to us. The way home is uneventful, apart from Rory kicking stones again, Gale scaring a cat, and me having my fifth cigarette today.

At home we find Ma, Vick and Posy awake and waiting for us to have some breakfast and start getting ready for the horror that is to come. Vick and Posy are reasonably calm and playing with some buttons on the floor (more precisely Vick is trying to get Posy to understand some easy rules of a primitive game, that he has learned in school the other day, with no success or whatsoever), they look so caught up and childish, that it makes me smile. I look at Copy, he just shakes his head with a lopsided grin on his face. Rory shortly joins them, still a little gruffy, but at least willing to act like the kid he is.

Ma on the other hand, looks like the ghost of her strong and resilient self, with pale cheeks and sunken, red eyes fixed on us. I don't ask what it is, nor does Copy. We know. It's the fear of losing us to the Capitol, to the Games, the greedy monster that is this system. The same fear, that kept me from sleeping, the same fear that makes Gale so angry and edgy today. We know, that no Odds can be forever in our favor, that it is sheer luck, nothing else, that kept both of us from being reaped until now. I give her an awkward squeeze on the shoulder, Copy on the other hand, ever the mommy's boy, hugs her. Giving them privacy, and myself a chance to breathe, I excuse myself to our room, to change into my reaping clothes.

For most girls it's a pretty dress, they wear for the reaping, but since I don't own any dresses (save for an ancient, tattered skirt, that belonged to Ma, and grandma, and maybe some more women in our family before them, that I only wear for dancing), and even if I did, I probably would not wear them, so I put on my loose, black linen pants, and one of Papa's old, grey, button up shirts. After I'm done, I check myself in the mirror. All I see is a pale, skinny girl, with hollow cheeks, very messy, straight, short, jet black hair, in way too big clothes, and sparkling, icy grey eyes. The only tolerable features in my face, are my eyes, Papa's eyes, that would light up with mischief, when I smile. Other ways I am a little too tall for a girl (not close as tall as Copy, but, taller, than, for instance Katniss Everdeen) and too thin to be called attractive, with sharp facial features, that only look nice, when I smile genuinely. All together, I am a little too angular, and scrawny, for a seventeen year old girl.

I try to tame the nest on my head, that is my hair, and scrub my face for a little colour. I fail at both, so I give up on trying to look presentable, and leave the little, dark chamber, we call bathroom. In our room, I find Copy fully dressed for reaping, in Papa's clothes (too short for him on the legs and arms), with a very serious expression on his face. The sight makes me crack a smile, and giggle a little. He could wear anything, and still be the most handsome guy in the whole District, but these clothes do make him look ridiculous, at least to me. He makes an annoyed face at me, then smiles too, not being able to hold it back anymore.

"Well, at least we tried" he is grinning now, from ear to ear. I throw a pillow at him, and soon, we are hitting each other with the soft objects, giggling, and making idle threats. We are now carefree, and childish, and so amused, that Ma's presence goes unnoticed for a few minutes.

When we take notice of her, finally, she is smiling a genuine, but tired, teary eyed smile, visibly trying to carve this moment into her mind forever. But with the pleasant thoughts slowly leaving, reality knocks again in. We have to leave, to be at the square in time.

It goes the same way every year. Anthem-documentary-reap-a-girl-reap-a-boy-treaty-anthem. So no surprise comes our way, when the Anthem booms loudly in our ears. Or when the documentary film starts. I steal a glimpse at Copy and catch him looking with a silly, nervous grin on his face. We share a wink, as I see him mouth the words of the film "...terrible war...a motherless child..." I even let out a giggle at this point. I catch Katniss looking too, Copy smiles his gorgeous smile at her. Maybe one day, I will always see him smile like this, and I think, I can handle accepting Katniss Everdeen as a sister. Not that I would have a problem with her, no, quite the contrary, we get on well, had some good times together with Gale, and the kid-siblings we have. And I am drawn back two years in time, when we would teach Posy talk. Making it a contest, whose name would she say first, with 'Wowee' being the victor of the war for Posy's heart. Or when we've tricked Vick into taking a bath, something he's dreaded ever since he was born, or when Copy and I have taught Katniss of a few basic snares, or when we got Lady, the goat, pranking the teacher in school, every damn September, going to the Hob in the mornings, selling strawberries to the mayor's daughter (who I believe to be Copy's secret crush, the girl, he could never have), having dangerous sledge races on the hill by the District border, resulting in two broken ankles, a sprained wrist, a head wound, and probably the best winter memory, since Papa passed away for the five of us, spending warm summer evenings by the river bank, swimming, splashing water in each other's face. And despite all the stress that reaping gives me, I smile a little. This is when I hear Effie Trinket's nasal voice.

"...Hawthorne"

I feel the blood leaving my face, as I pale whiter than the wall. My legs feel like they are suddenly filled with lead, my head is dizzy and I am ready to collapse any second.

"Tristine River Hawthorne, where are you, dear? Don't be shy, come on up!"

Shy? No, scared shitless? Absolutely. I command my limbs to move, grit my teeth and take a shaky step forward. Breathe, Tris, breathe!

I search Copy in the crowd. There are no words to describe his expression. Scared, down struck, unbelieving. I shake my head at him. Don't volunteer for tribute. Losing one of us is enough for Ma and the kids. Finally he nods. It's his reassuring nod, that gives me strength to walk up to the podium.

"There you are, sweetie, hurry, hurry, we don't have all day!"

"Fuck my life!" I mutter loudly. No matter how drunk he is, Haymitch Abernathy hears my cursing and laughs loudly.

"That is the best way to say it, darlin'! No illusions, I like that! See the glory in your work!" the last sentence is for the cameras. Wow. He is probably the only person to dare to say these things out loud. Of course, he's got no one to lose, but still.

"And now, for the boys!"

My heart clenches. Not him, please, please, not him! I beg and pray and plead with all that I am, to the Odds, the God of the Old World, the Devil, Mother Nature, the Great Spirit of the heathens, anything and anyone, that might hear me and answer my pleas, not to let it be Copy.


	2. Chapter 2

And one of them must have heard me.

"Marcel Chyston!"

Oh. The jeweler's son. Scrawny, blond, uninterested, whiny, fourteen year old boy. Tall, and skinny and unkind. Now shaking with dread and fear.

One last reassuring shake of the head at Copy, and I can almost feel calm again. As always, almost goes for no, of course. But close enough should do for now.

Handshake, Treaty, and it's already over. We are escorted to the Justice Building by Peacekeepers. One of them is Darius, a regular costumer of mine, and an official fan of my horrid homemade cigarettes. His presence calms me down, even if only a little. He can't say much now, in front of everyone, but the first chance he can get away with it, he whispers in my ear.

"Breathe easy, I know, you will make it out. Until then, I quit smoking. But I expect you to be back in two months, at longest."

"Darius, I..."

"See you soon, Tristine. I know, I will. Say nothing, just make it out of the arena."

And he is gone already.

The rooms, we are locked in separately, are too big and unfriendly. Supposedly waiting for our visitors to say their (possibly) last goodbyes to us, I can't help, but wonder, how is that shaking, pale boy on the other side of the wall holding up.

I am terrified, not because of the Games. But of sleeping alone until my short and numbered days run out. Of not having little Posy climbing on the bed, that I share with my twin. Of no Ma telling me to quit smoking. Of no Rory bickering and being mean to Post, or Vick, but saying sorry almost immediately after, and trailing me for the rest of the day. No little Vick being too nice for his own good, and trying to share the little piece of nothing he has. And most importantly, being apart from Gale. We have never spent more than a few hours without one another since we were born. Never slept without him, or had to wait more than an hour to share anything that crossed my mind with him, and vice versa. I am not an individual being. I am a twin, his twin, more precisely. We exists together or no way at all. At least that's how it has been. Until now.

The door bursts out. It's Ma, Vick and Posy. We cling to each other for dear life.

"Make it home, Trisy, please!" nobody has better pleady eyes than Vick. Not even Posy.

"I will try, okay? Vick, listen, be good and help Ma with anything you can, understood?"

"Aye, Captain Hawthorne!" the secret code names we gave each other years ago... I am Captain, Copy is First Mate, Vick is Lieutenant, Rory is the Terror of the Seven Seas, a good pirate, if there ever was one. Posy is the Princess (no surprise there), Ma is Queen and an old Matron at the same time. Papa is Admiral. And that is where he is now, sailing the Seven Seas, on his good old ship, the Resilient. And I might just join him five decades earlier than I thought I would.

Pulling myself together, I look at Posy.

"Well, Princess, it's goodbye for now, it seems. Be good, and don't let Gale sleep alone, would you please!" a small nod from Posy and she is already hugging me again.

"You..." Ma is giving me the pointy finger-threat. "You... Don't you dare and give up! You are a Hawthorne, but you are also my daughter, so be stubborn and hold on to your life, like you mean it!"

We don't always get on well, Ma and I, but in this moment, I know, that I matter to her just as much as Copy and the kids.

"I know... Ma, I'm scared shitless. Ma..."

She doesn't let me finish, but gives me the biggest hug I have ever received (she doesn't hug me anymore, I am too much like Papa, more so, than Gale, who looks like him, but doesn't have his sense of humor or his cool and cynical temper, truth to be told, Papa masked his infinite anger with that, and Gale obviously inherited that, while I only have the coolness, and not the anger).

"I love you, my brave little girl, and don't forget that Papa is watching over you, don't disappoint him."

And as if my fears would have gotten blown away, I feel stronger and more confident. And in this moment the Peacekeepers kick the door in and demand that Ma and the kids leave. Posy and Vick cling to me for dear life, and Ma is standing there cupping one of my cheeks in her hand and staring at me with teary eyes.

"Go, Ma, before they make you!" I kiss her palm and give it a push towards the door. But, as expected, it takes two Peacekeepers to make them leave me.

The door closes, and I am once again alone with my fears. I suspect that Gale and Rory will not miss the opportunity to see me one last time, but in this moment, my constant companions and counselors, Ratio, Common Sense and Logic seem to be absent, and their places occupied by Terror, Fear, Bad Judgment, and Self Pity. What if they are still standing in the Justice Square? Scared, dumbfounded and disbelieving...

"Three minutes!"

It's them. Rory and Gale. Not frozen in disbelief, or fear. The anger and the defiance prominent in their eyes.

\- Tris, if you can't do it, no one else can...

\- I won't be able to sleep without you, Copy.

\- Same here, T. But it won't be long. You will be back in a few weeks. Right?

\- Copy...

\- No, Tristine. You are coming home. End of story. I beg of you not to give up. Please! Don't let them make you believe that they are stronger than you!

\- Gale, they are in fact stronger than me. They scared you.

\- They scared me, because they might take you away from me. And you scare me by letting me believe that they could succeed. So tell me, you won't let them.

His words have succeeded in making me feel better, stronger and all together, more like me. So I nod my head, and despite the tears in my eyes, I know, I look a lot more confident. He brings his forehead to mine and looks me in the eye sternly.

\- T, you are a...

\- Hawthorne. To endure and to stand tall...

\- Through it all. Fuck the Odds.

We let go of each other and I turn to Rory. His eyes are burning with unshed tears. My little brother holds out his hand, clearly clutching something.

\- Take this with you to the Arena. I picked it up at home, 'cause I had a bad feeling about today.

I take the small, metal object from him, and without looking, I know what it is.

\- Papa's swift pin.

\- So you always remember that you...

\- I will be like this little bird. A swift, always to come home. Thank you Rory. Really. Thanks.

I now have trouble holding back those nasty tears.

\- I love you kiddo, don't forget it.

\- I...

\- Time is up!

Things from this point go in a blur. Peacekeepers tuck us a big, black car, and I'm pressed between Marcel and Effie, with Haymitch sitting in the front seat next to our chauffer. Marcel looks positively worse than me, tear streaked cheeks. Though his face turned away, I would bet my buttons, that Haymitch feels just as bad as I do. I clear my throat, swallow a bit of fear and tears.

"Haymitch…"

"What's it already sweetheart?"

I can tell, that he is irritated, and thrown out of his balance by my initiation of communication.

"Is it possible, that I get a cigarette, and I get it soon?"

I think, I might collapse, if I don't.

"Trying to kill yourself the slow way, huh?"

"Haymitch!"

Effie's voice is now nowhere as sweet and pompous as it was an hour ago.

"All right… I'll try."

"Thanks."

My voice is quiet, and sounds much older, and scared, than usual. The rest of the way silence takes place among us, like the sixth passenger.


	3. Chapter 3

It's only on the train, that I finally am allowed to have that long anticipated cigarette. Leaning out the window, I welcome the putrid smoke into my lungs. Trying not to think, I observe the landscape, the trees, the fields, that run by the window at a mind shattering speed. It's an odd feeling, but I miss my mother for the first time in years. Usually I only feel respect and a rather quiet and tranquil shade of love for her. Now, as I am headed towards an almost certain death, I miss her so much, it hurts. Her never yielding eyes, stern and steady hands and most of all, I miss her wisdom.

I don't even think of Copy. If I did, I'd break down on the spot. Stopping my wishful thinking, I flick the cigarette butt into the wilderness, and retreat to the wagon.

The others are seated around a heavily packed table, overflowing with ridiculously expensive food and beverages. My insides squirm with nausea. Disgusting, that they starve us all our lives, but at death's door, we are flooded with the goods, we have been denied before.

"Tristine, dear, join us! It's a lovely meal, provided to us by the Capitol."

I freeze in total disgust and ice-cold rage. I'd rather die, than be gracious to the ones that keep my family starved and barely striving to stay alive. Haymitch Abernathy's voice wakes me from my reverie.

\- Fuck your Seam pride, girl! If you ever want to get back to your goddamn family, eat, 'cuz you'll need it, god knows, you are boney, as a stick.

I look at him, searching for something, I can't even name.

\- Is that what you did?

He looks at me with unreadable eyes.

\- Yes. I took all I could.

\- Is that how you won? Or is there something else?

An eyebrow runs higher than possible.

\- You actually want to win?

\- I am going home with or without your help. No doubt about that. Still. I'd appreciate some advice.

To my utter surprise, he laughs. It unnerves me for some reason.

\- How are planning to accomplish that?

\- I promised my little sister. I am keeping my promise. At all cost.

\- What is your name, again?

\- Tristine River Hawthorne. Why?

\- A Hawthorne. I knew your father from school, if you are anything like him, I believe you. Matthias was my friend. From before the games. You have his eyes.

\- Good. But I don't care if you don't believe me.

\- And I don't care about you at all. Now, eat!

This time I oblige, but as I sit down, I find myself looking at Marcel. His eyes are wet with tears, and wide with terror.

\- I remember you. You sell cigarettes and tobacco.

The kid is so damn helpless, that I feel automatically bad for him. I try and give him some comfort, or hope, or whatever.

\- Are you good at Sports or Maths?

\- Maths. I was good at that.

\- Good. So am I. We team up. In the arena, I mean. You know how to play chess?

\- A...a little, yes... How is that going to help us?

\- Strategic thinking. Neither of us is particularly big and strong, or scary. So I guess we are Team Smart from now on.

On his face, for the first time since the reaping, I see hope and determination.

\- Okay. One of us is going home... Doesn't really matter which. But one of us.

I look up at Haymitch, his face shows surprise and something alike to hope. Good. Hold on Copy, I'll be seeing you again soon.

\- Don't disappoint me, Tristine River Hawthorne! I am willing to mentor you properly, but only if one of you is coming back for good.

Effie Trinket claps her hands in excitement.

\- That was so cute! You are such inspiring tributes! This is our year, I know for sure.

None of us reacts to her comment, instead I find myself in a staring contest with our mentor.

\- So, girl, you play chess?

\- Yes.

\- Are you any good?

\- Been told so.

\- Show me!

There is a beautiful set, unused, clearly, unsympathetic, foreign. But I am determined to break it in.

\- Ladies first.

So I get to play the white. After the first few moves, I see, how smart he is. Focus, Tris! Your life depends on how well you play now.

\- Hmm... Not bad, not bad at all. But let's see, how brilliant you really are... Check!

Ruthless, yet subtle, that is how I could describe his style. My counter attack surprises him, I think.

Our match goes on and on for hours, and only by a slight chance, he defeats me.

\- Team Smart, it is, at least on your part.

\- I want rematch. In the morning.

He smiles a little.

\- Deal. You play the black, this time. But remember, I beat you. And you can't afford to be beaten in the arena. That is, if you want to win... Send the boy to me, and get something to eat, for fuck's sake! You are already dying of malnourishment, you can't make it out of the arena like that.

I do as I was told, not telling him about the fact, that I'm practically incapable of gaining a single ounce.

In my compartment I find a stash of lovely clothes. How that effort is wasted on me, I barely have words to say. I choose a pair of loose dark gray pants and a more fitting shirt, gray too, only lighter. Strange, but looking into the mirror, I almost feel pretty. I am still pale as the wall, skinny as a stick, but now I have a distinct grace, from the flowing material of the pants, and the light gray shirt adds a somewhat aerial look. I look presentable, maybe even a little better than that. Mysterious. Haughty, with the emblematic 'Hawthorne-look' in my eyes. Yes, I definitely stand a chance.

As I exit my room and enter the main wagon, I feel three pairs of eyes on me.

\- Look, who is pretty! You are so promising, my dear! And Marcel is not bad either! He is learning chess so quickly!

Oh. Effie Trinket, I wish you were mute! I can almost hear Gale snort in disdain. You still need her to stay alive, T, don't blow it.

\- Thanks. Erm... Haymitch said food...

\- Oh, yes, I will let the servants know, right away.

She exists, and so does Marcel, after being beaten for the tenth time in a row. I am left with Haymitch.

\- I never took you for a looker. But I guess, I was wrong. They will want to buy you. That's not bad. It'll get you sponsors. The boy is rubbish at chess, though. Original. But rubbish.

\- You seem almost sober. Why? Are we that good?

\- The boy isn't. You are. Don't let me down.

His voice is pleading, his eyes are softer. I guess I was wrong about the soberness thing. I sit down, opposite to him, and set the board. I need to learn.

\- How do you find shelter, water, warmth and food in the arena?

He makes the first move, while contemplating the answer.

\- First of all, you avoid making a fire, unless it can't be helped, or you are absolutely sure that you are able to kill anyone, who comes near you. Since you don't strike me as such, I suggest, you find other ways to keep warm. Like thermal water, or a sleeping buddy. Carefully chosen, needless to say. Or, you can take the clothes of the fallen. Not nice. But adaptive.

I shudder at the thought of undressing the corpses of the others. But it's the Games, so I can't be picky. Still. Yikes. What would Copy do? Or Ma, or Rory? Snares... Snares! I have a strategy. Or at least a scheme of one.

\- I can do snares.

Haymitch looks taken aback. A little, at least.

\- Can you now?

\- Check. I can. I have hunted so, for the last ten years. The biggest game I have ever caught was a doe. Eighty pounds or so.

Haymitch kept his eyes fixed on the board.

\- Not bad, not bad at all. But can you fight? Knife, bow, spear?

I froze at the realization, that I probably can't use either of those. But glancing at the board, I took the next step.

\- Check-mate. I will learn.

I am a little anxious to meet Haymitch's eyes, but I do, when I hear him chuckle. He is actually smiling a sad, sarcastic, but hopeful smile.

\- You, sweetheart, you will. But you must try. And do your very best... Pour me a drink, and go to sleep! Rematch in the morning. Also, we will watch the recap of the reapings.

Obligingly, I pour his drink, have a last smoke, and retreat to my room. Sleep doesn't come, not like I would expect it to. I can't, not without Copy. Suddenly I am unable to hold back my tears.

How will I ever get home? They will kill me, and I have not told Gale how I can't exist without him, or my mother that I am sorry, for distancing myself from her, or Rory that I love him more than could ever tell, that Papa would be so proud of him, or Little Vick, that he is my model of kindness and goodness, or Posy, that she is the most precious little girl in the world. I should have told them every day, now I will never be able to do so.

I don't know how, but I fall asleep. I dream of blood and separation, of Gale in the arena in my stead, of Haymitch Abernathy being a giant, and me being a minor chess piece in his hand. And, just before I wake up, the last thing I see, is my father's face, clear and detailed, as if I only saw him a moment before.

I wake at dawn, covered in sweat and tears, panting like crazy.

The morning chess gets cancelled, due to Haymitch's hangover. The recaps are a nightmare. District 1 tributes are big, strong and beautiful. District 2's are bigger, stronger, less beautiful, 3 looks okay, but they are known to be deceiving like that. 4 is, as always, pretty, cocky, ready to fight. 5 and 6 are not particularly scary, or intimidating. 7 looks like a downright mess, with a 12 year-old boy and a handicapped girl (one arm, thick glasses), 8 and 9 are hard to tell, but these tributes shake like leaves on the tree. 10 looks irrelevant, 11 however, I find ok, the girl seems to be my age, and judging by the short footage, we share temper, and the boy seems like a calm, stoic person.

\- I want them as allies.

\- Get them, then. Oh, and stay away from the Careers. 11 and 12 don't usually mix with them.

Haymitch says so, and takes a long swing from his drink.

\- I see I am not good enough to keep you sober enough to function on the long run.

He lowers the flask, and fixes me the nastiest glare I have ever seen. But I don't care, I keep going.

\- It's good to know, that you don't really think I have a chance, so I won't count on you in vain.

\- Sweetheart...

There is a warning in his voice, that I willingly ignore.

\- Don't say it isn't so, cause it is. But with, or without your help, I am going home, or make sure the boy does.

\- What are you trying to achieve with this little scene, Love?

\- Let's make a deal. I'll be a good girl, obey your advices, and survive the Games.

\- Sounds ambitious, but good so far. I won't stop drinking, if that's what you are playing at.

\- I'm not asking you to. You drink enough to function, but not too much not to. Deal?

He seems to contemplate my suggestion.

\- I did beat you yesterday in chess.

Haymitch nods reluctantly.

\- Deal, Sweetheart. But those snares better be ready good.

I still have a chance. Copy, don't give up on me just yet. I know you won't.


End file.
